Now I don't want to be unreasonable.
That animal has done all the work it ought to do in this world.

How much is she worth to you ?" Through the man's beer-clogged brain a gleam of cunning began to find its way.

He looked at the Rolls-Royce, with the two motionless servants on the box, at Francis standing by, at Sir Timothy, even to his thick understanding the very prototype of a "toff." "That 'oss," he said, "ain't what she was, it's true, but there's a lot of work in 'er yet.

She may not be much to look at but she's worth forty quid to me--ay, and one to spit on!" Sir Timothy counted out some notes from the pocketbook which he had produced, and handed them to the man.
"Here are fifty pounds," he said.

"The mare is mine.